


Feeling

by still_lycoris



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Depression, First Time, M/M, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles tries all sorts of things to stop himself feeling ... some are better than others</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling

Charles lay on the floor in his bedroom and worked on not feeling anything.

Lately, he either swung between feeling nothing and feeling far too much. Everything was wearily blank or zigzagging between rage and misery. On the whole, feeling nothing was preferable to that.

Today though, it wasn’t working. His mind felt almost like it was boiling, thrashing around in his head. At first, all that anger had helped him. It had been inspiring, got him working harder, helped him push. But then the anger had just stayed, sitting there inside him and bubbling up at unexpected times. He couldn’t seem to be rid of it, no matter what he did. It was like a part of him now, a bitter part that he couldn’t dislodge. Sometimes it lay dormant for a while but then it would burst out, eclipsing everything else.

He didn’t want to be angry. He just wanted to be _nothing._

(Very occasionally, he wondered if there was an alternative between the two but that didn’t seem to exist now. He just had to live with it all.)

Nothing wasn’t coming so he got up off the floor and went to find himself a bottle of something. He’d already been drinking today but he didn’t particularly worry about that any more. That was very much the least of his worries really. If he wanted to drink, he drank and consequences be damned.

It was odd how little be able to walk pleased him any more. He could remember that back when Hank’s serum had first started to work, he’d been so happy to feel his legs again. To be able to feel and move the way he’d always used to, not to have to worry about it … oh, it had been amazing. But now, it was just how it was – in fact, it was almost as nothing as everything else. Just something he could do. Sometimes, he thought it almost wasn’t worth it – except it kept the voices out. He couldn’t bear the voices. Just thinking about hearing them made him feel sick again. So much pain and despair pressing on his mind … no. No, better away from all that.

He was heading down the stairs when he heard sounds from Hank’s laboratory and abruptly changed direction. Sometimes spending time with Hank was a comfort, other times a frustration but that day, he wanted the distraction.

Hank was working on something and didn’t even notice Charles opening the door. He always looked happiest when he was busy, lost in his own little world of sciences and experiments. Sometimes Charles liked it but today, it was annoying. He wished he could lose himself like that.

“Hank.”

Hank jumped and turned to look at him, his expression flicking from contentment to anxious. Charles felt a stab of guilt which only made him angrier. Why did everything have to be a source of pain these days?

“Charles. Are you all right? Did you need something?”

“No,” Charles said. “No, I … I just wanted to see what you were doing, that’s all. Tell me about it.”

Hank didn’t return to his previous level of content but his face relaxed a little as he began to talk. Charles sat down and half-listened, caring less about the content and more about just being around Hank. Sometimes, he took his rage out on Hank, snapping and snarling at him and he knew it was unfair. Hank had been a rock, a comfort and he deserved better, he deserved so much better …

The guilt hurt and he hated himself. Something must have shown on his face because Hank stopped talking and moved close to him, crouching down to look him in the face.

“Are you all right? You’re not sick?”

“Only in the head,” Charles said, then laughed. Hank didn’t. He just looked worried and reached out to touch Charles’s wrist, probably feeling to see if Charles had a fever or was dehydrated. His fingers were warm and gentle and suddenly, Charles was thinking about how much he missed being touched.

He’d always loved sex. While he’d still had his powers, it had always been an amazing experience, dipping in and out of a mind that was surging with pleasure. It had always given him quite a high. But it had been so long, the last time he’d even kissed someone had been Moira and he didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to remember any of it … … 

So he pushed it away, leaned forward and kissed Hank gently on the mouth.

For a moment, Hank stayed totally still, as though he didn’t know quite what was happening. Charles continued to kiss, just moving his mouth carefully against Hank’s until slowly, hesitantly, Hank began to kiss back. Charles briefly wondered how often Hank had been kissed and then pushed the thought away. He didn’t want to think about anything except enjoying himself. He wanted to focus on Hank’s mouth and the way he was trembling slightly and the feel of his cheeks when Charles reached up to cup his face …

Hank pulled back with a little gasp, stumbling to his feet. Charles stood up too, not letting Hank move too far away from him. 

“C-charles, maybe, maybe we shouldn’t do this … ”

Charles kissed him again, not wanting to hear the words. Hank gave a tiny moan. Charles pressed against him, reaching up to stroke Hank’s shoulders. He didn’t want Hank to want to stop. He didn’t want to stop himself. He didn’t want to _think_.

Hank was beginning to kiss him back more eagerly now, arms wrapped around Charles’s waist. Charles wriggled a little and when Hank groaned and tightened his grip, grinding their hips together, Charles knew that he had him.

Sex was different without telepathy. Harder. Before, he’d just been able to skate beautifully in their minds, know instantly if what he was doing was pleasing or not and adjust accordingly. His own pleasure had always been heightened because he could feel exactly what they were feeling and let that rule him just as much as his own feelings. Now he had to rely on what Hank was doing to him, had to try and work out what Hank’s non-verbal cues meant and that was harder than he’d expected it to be. He found himself panicking sometimes, afraid that he was getting it wrong, that he was doing badly because he knew he was, compared to his old self. Compared to his old self, he was nothing, he was worthless, useless …

Hank didn’t care. Every time Charles paused, Hank would clutch at him, kiss him again, raggedly beg for Charles not to stop, to carry on, to please, please not stop …

So Charles didn’t stop.

Hank curled up against him afterwards, drowsy and apparently content. Charles smoothed his hair slowly, a part of him twisting with uneasy fear. He’d changed things again. He had no idea what Hank was thinking, no idea what he was feeling. Would it occur to him that he had just been a warm body because Charles missed being loved? Would he feel used, betrayed? Would just accept it as another responsibility heaped on his shoulders?

He must have made a sound because Hank lifted his head and stared at him anxiously. Charles automatically tried to smile and pressed their foreheads together.

“Thank you, Hank.”

“Any time,” Hank said simply. “Any time, Charles.”

He wrapped his arms around Charles again, cuddled him close and kissed him. Charles allowed it. Hank was warm and this was better than feeling anger or fear or guilt. 

Almost better than feeling nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 12dayschristmas


End file.
